


The strong remain

by FeatheredShadow



Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Angst, Athos's POV so it's full of angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Friendship, Gen, Slash if you squint, also all the relationships are in the background
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-23
Updated: 2014-03-23
Packaged: 2018-01-16 17:18:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,039
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1355467
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FeatheredShadow/pseuds/FeatheredShadow
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He finds solace, eventually.</p>
<p>[Athos, from his arrival into the Musketeers garrison, to d'Artagnan's arrival.]</p>
            </blockquote>





	The strong remain

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: the characters belong to the BBC and are based on the great novel written by Dumas. 
> 
> Once again, many thanks to my dear Anique for beta-reading this text! All the remaining faults are mine. 
> 
> There are references to the French countryside: Reims's cathedrale is very important for the French royalty, Chambord is one of the châteaux de la Loire, which all belong to the Crown, and the Champagne is a region in Northern France, famous for its... champagne indeed.

**

The strong remain

**

**1.**

He wakes up thinking about Anne, sheets soaked in sweat, her locket almost burning his skin – or perhaps it is just a trick of his mind. Paris is already awake and he can hear his landlord talking with the baker two houses down. It is a sunny day, but quite cold: he can already feel the chill invading his small room, despite the fact that he went to sleep with his clothes on. Getting ready is not a difficult process for once – he has barely touched a bottle of wine yesterday evening. Or perhaps it was very early in the morning, getting everything explained to the Captain after coming back from Savoy had taken some time, and Porthos had disappeared soon enough with Aramis, who needed the urgent attention of the garrison’s physician. 

Walking in Paris’s crowded streets does nothing to ease his mood, but he has gotten used to it. His dreams – memories, more like it – won’t let him alone, and he is a bit worried for Aramis, despite not knowing the man very well. Porthos and he have been the only ones being persistent in their efforts to get to know him (and he suspects the Captain is behind it, somehow). He would not like for Aramis to die. 

The garrison is buzzing with talk when he enters, but dark faces are all he sees. Edmond nods to him and goes back to talking with his fellow musketeers. He doesn’t exactly know what to do with himself, feels out of place, but this doesn’t last for long: the Captain gets out of his office and announces that he is to go the palace to talk to the King, about the consequences of what happened in Savoy. He sees the men nodding everywhere, grim looks on their faces. Porthos still hasn’t appeared, but the Captain doesn’t look worse than yesterday, so Aramis is still alive.

Probably.

Hopefully.

The Captain is already at the bottom of the stairs when he sees him and moves his fingers, indicating him to come closer. He follows swiftly, heading towards the stables with vague curiosity.

“You are to come with me to the Palace” the Captain says, bags under his eyes. “Usually I would have someone with more experience coming, the King prefers it this way, but with what happened… Well, he would understand the men staying close together for a few days.”

He nods. The Captain goes on.

“Porthos especially… But he is staying with Aramis for now.”  
“Is he going to survive?”

He knows his voice is cold, emotionless even, but it doesn’t make him feel better under the intense scrutiny of the Captain’s eyes.

“If God wills it… The physician is cautious but seems to think that if he has survived for so long, it should be alright.”  
“I hope so.” 

The Captain looks at him again, a long, hard stare, and nods, satisfaction briefly visible on his face. They prepare their horses in silence, until the Captain sighs and turns towards him.

“Their Majesties…”

He hesitates, and this is not something he is used to. He frowns. Something bad must have happened…

“The Queen lost the child when you were in Savoy retrieving Aramis and the bodies.”  
“A tragic loss.”

The Captain nods, looking older than his years. 

“Just… be careful at court.”  
“I will.”

_I know how the higher-born can be ruthless wolves_ , he thinks, but doesn’t say anything. The Captain doesn’t know his past – though he probably suspect some things – and this is all for the best. He doesn’t want anyone else to know anything about him. It’s less painful.

**2.**

The court is more withdrawn than one would expect, but given the current circumstances, this is not very surprising. People do whisper as they see him walking behind the Captain without the musketeers’ spaulder, but there's nothing he can do about it. Their Majesties are in the gardens, the King shooting at pigeons under the eyes of a dozen courtiers, while the Queen is bundled in furs, looking even younger than she really is. 

“Ah, Treville! Come join me!”

The King seems quite happy to see the Captain, and motions him to come closer, giving his musket to one of his servants. The Cardinal is here too, as usual, and seems particularly cold, but it’s probably because of the weather. 

Hopefully.

“Let’s have a walk, shall we?” And then, the King does something his courtiers never expected, though the Captain and the Cardinal don’t look surprised, and turns towards the Queen. “Madam, will you join us?”  
“It would be my pleasure,” the Queen answers in a kind voice, after a moment of silence. 

She rises slowly and puts her hand on the one the King is offering. The whispers start while Their Majesties slowly walk away, the Captain one foot behind the King and himself five feet behind his Captain, fascinated by the way the royal couple is acting towards each other. (There is more love between them than the rumours suggest, though it’s not very difficult to have some love somewhere when people say there is nothing.) 

The Captain is explaining the situation, and _would His Majesty be willing to commission a couple of musketeers in the future?_ What happened in Savoy is weighing on his mind again, and he goes back to thinking about Aramis, and about Porthos who must still be sitting at his side, praying for him to recover. He doesn’t mind fighting alongside them and it would be a waste to see one of them dying so soon… Especially after surviving the whole ordeal in Savoy. 

The Queen’s grip on her husband’s hand suddenly tightens, her knuckles turning white, and the King stops mid-sentence to turn towards her, concern on his face. She looks very pale and her breath is shaky, he realizes. Perhaps she shouldn’t have left her armchair… 

“Are you alright?” The King enquires, tentatively putting one hand on her waist, the other still holding her hand.  
“I think I will wait for you here, if Your Majesty doesn’t mind,” she answers with short breath, and the King looks at her with worry.

The Captain sends him a long look from behind the King’s shoulder and he turns his head slightly to where the courtiers still are. Everyone is staring at them, even though no one can hear what is being said because of the distance.

“We shall do this, then. _You_ ,” and the King turns towards him, which is quite unnerving. “You will look after Her Majesty. Understood?”  
“Yes, Your Majesty,” he answers before bowing. 

The King and the Captain go back on their walk, while he turns towards the Queen. She looks brittle, lost in hers furs, with eyes seeming too huge for her pale face. He feels sorry for her – for what happened to her.

“I do not think I know your name, monsieur…?”  
“Athos, Your Majesty.”

She nods slowly, her attention fixed on him. He would prefer for her to decide to go back to the palace, she doesn’t seem fit to be in the cold gardens, but it is not his place to give that kind of suggestion. The silence stretches and he starts to feel slightly uncomfortable, his eyes still fixed on the Queen, while she is watching her husband walking around with the Captain, in what looks to be an animated discussion. He shifts from one foot to another, and the Queen turns paler than death, putting her hands on her stomach and gasping. He catches her before she falls, not quite sure what happened. It is quite a strange feeling to be holding a woman in his arms again.

“It is nothing,” the Queen gasps while getting back to her feet, keeping her hand on his arm. “You must think I am sensitive to pain,” she adds with a sad little smile, trying to regain her composure – and he realizes that she still suffers from the miscarriage.  
“Soldiers who have been stabbed in the stomach need a long time to heal, Your Majesty,” he answers in what he hopes to be a not a too cold tone. 

She looks grateful at his answer, and they stay in the same position for a couple of minutes. If he is good enough for the Queen to lean on him, then he won’t complain, even though he can feel the weight of the stares of the courtiers. 

“I would like to go back to my armchair,” she finally decides in a small voice, looking less pale than before. 

He nods, and they start to walk very slowly to where the courtiers – and the Cardinal – are waiting. The Queen is still leaning on him, and he realizes that the King and the Captain are walking behind them too, some feet away. Getting the Queen back in sitting position is quite an adventure, as she is still in pain despite her assurances that it is nothing, and he steps back as soon as she is as comfortable as possible. The King and the Captain arrive less than a minute later, still talking. 

“You will do what is necessary about your current predicament, Captain Treville,” the King declares while putting a hand on his wife’s shoulder. “And _you_ ,” he says while turning towards him, “I am very satisfied with you. You may leave,” he adds to the both of them, moving his hand along the way.

They curtsy deeply, and turn around, walking fast through the gardens. The Captain is silent, but doesn’t seem too upset, so the audience must have gone well enough. As for him… well, he admires the Queen a bit more now that he has seen her so close. 

He is commissioned to be one of the King’s Musketeers three days later. 

**3.**

Aramis gets out of bed eventually and they are sent in missions together again. He doesn’t mind as much as before, knows that the Captain is counting on him to watch his back, but still feels _off_ most of the time. There is a coldness, a _numbness_ inside him that threatens to swallow him whole, and some days, he has no memories at all of what happened. He only feels vaguely alive on the battlefield, and takes _huge_ risks when he is fighting. He knows it, knows that someone might get hurt, but doesn’t have the energy to care about it right now. (It already took too much to just _notice_ it.)

Until Porthos takes a shot that was meant for him, falls to the ground, blood everywhere, and him and Edmond have to secure the perimeter while Aramis is patching Porthos up as best as he can, given the circumstances. Aramis seems to have snapped out of the apathy that was threatening him and throws him against a tree so hard he sees stars, before starting to shake him quite brutally. It takes Edmond’s intervention to separate them, and they journey back to Paris in silence. 

He stays in the physician’s rooms until he is assured that Porthos will survive if he can pass the night and leaves, wanting nothing more than his bottle of wine – and forget the fact that Aramis had threatened to make him _pay_ if he didn’t. The Captain stops him on his way down the stairs, making sure he won’t _leave_ the garrison – and he won’t, not now that he is a real musketeer – and goes looking for an inn where he isn’t known. The _Dancing Siren_ seems to be a good option.

He lets a whole day pass, and then goes back to the physician’s rooms. He has apologies to make, and can only hope that Porthos’s heart isn’t as hard as his own. Porthos is still sleeping, but so is Aramis, curled up on a chair on a corner, snoring slightly. He gets another chair close to Porthos’s bed and waits for the musketeer to wake up, wondering how he is going to manage to express his apologizes – to make sure Porthos knows he is sincere. 

He doesn’t have to wait too long: Porthos stirs, wakes up with a groan, opens his eyes sleepily, looks at him like he has seen a ghost (which is probably not far from the truth, considering how he is feeling these days) and starts to push on his arms to get to a sitting position. He rises on his feet and helps Porthos, not wanting to see him get hurt in the process, and places a few pillows behind his back, then goes back to his chair. They look at each other in silence, Porthos radiating calm.

He takes a deep breath and starts talking.

“I would like to offer you my apologizes for what happened,” he starts in a low voice, unable to look at Porthos, his eyes fixed on his hands – and how pathetic it is that he can’t even pronounce these words looking Porthos in the eye. “My behavior endangered both you and Aramis, and you wouldn’t be in this bed if it wasn’t for me.”

He stops – can’t go ahead, won’t go ahead if he can’t get a grip on his nerves. The ghost of Thomas floats around for a few seconds and it smells like forget-me-nots. But he has to continue, he isn’t done yet. 

He takes a deep breath and finally looks at Porthos, whose dark eyes haven’t left his face since he started talking. 

“I am sorry. This won’t happen again.”

Porthos raises his eyebrows, and he can already feel his heart break a little – looks like it wasn’t totally hardened after all.

“How can you be so sure of that?”

It is a true slap and he feels his fists clenching. He is starting to panic, but no, it’s too soon, _too soon_ , he isn’t done yet…

“I will be more careful in the future, I will not put myself in dangerous situations if it is not needed.”

This is all he has to offer, and he hopes Porthos can hear the sincerity in his voice – will allow him to leave without having made an enemy of the musketeer. He doesn’t want to think about being a musketeer without having him and Aramis watching his back.

“If you are still willing to accept me as your partner in missions, of course.”

There it is, the last words he can offer to Porthos. It is quite sad he can’t say anything more, but he has never been very talented with words. A loud snore tears him from his thoughts and he looks at Aramis, feeling more than seeing Porthos turning in the same direction. A small smile appears on his lips and doesn’t disappear once he turns back his attention towards him. Being the center of Porthos’s attention is a very unnerving experience and he doesn’t know how Aramis manages it so well. 

“I forgive you,” Porthos, and the simplicity, the kindness with which he says this makes his stomach churn – even more so as Porthos clasps his knee. “Though I won’t promise Aramis will be doing the same as quickly…” he adds with a little laugh, his face still kind and warm, and he can _feel_ the smile appearing on his lips. 

He has never felt so good since Thomas died.

**4.**

Aramis doesn’t forgive easily. Porthos comes back to the training fast enough, and doesn’t mind when he is around (actually, he smiles a lot and is very welcoming, but he clearly feels inadequate most of the time) but Aramis behaves like a guard dog around Porthos. It's only natural, with Marsac deserting only a few months ago, leaving him almost dead in Savoy. What happened to Porthos had been another hard blow to him. It doesn’t mean he likes being the target in most of Aramis’s shooting practice sessions. Porthos has picked up on it though, and restrains Aramis most of the time, but he wishes he knew what to do to be forgiven by Aramis. 

The situation gets more strained as weeks go by, until the Captain sends them in a small reconnaissance mission in Reims. Things go as well as expected – nobody has been trying to blow up the cathedral, contrary to what the Captain’s reports seemed to think – but some members of the nobility were unhappy with the Cardinal’s politics and it all comes down to royal politics in the end, which is none of their business nor attributions. They are supposed to sleep in an inn on their way back, but a spring storm surprises them in the middle of the afternoon and they end in the mill of the smallest village he has ever put a foot in – and that’s saying something. 

There is some straw in it and they are allowed to start a fire, as long as someone keeps watch over it, so they can try and dry their clothes and eat some warm food. They all welcome the unexpected rest it offers them – especially Porthos, for whom the travel on horseback had been quite painful, due to his ribs still being sensitive. He ends up lying on the straw, his coat over him, and yawns so pitifully that Aramis joins him – both yawning and on the straw, curled under his coat. 

He has to stop himself from smiling, watching them as they curl against one another, sharing body warmth, and looking more like a pack of puppies – like the ones he usually saw at home when he was a child – than like the King’s fierce Musketeers he knows them to be. The night falls. It is silent, as the country usually is, and the fire cracking makes more noise in the mill than the three of them do. 

He shivers, all of a sudden. 

“Go to sleep, Athos, tomorrow will be long enough for you to think,” Aramis mumbles somewhere in front of him – he has difficulties seeing where one begins and the other ends.  
“I am not really tired,” he answers in a low voice, hoping he won’t wake Porthos.  
“Liar,” comes the answer and he grimaces – Porthos really needs his sleep. “Come here and sleep, we all need it.”

He hesitates. This is a tempting offer, but he doesn’t feel like it is his place to sleep next to them – not when Aramis still hasn’t forgiven him. 

He is not worth it. 

“We can hear you think from here,” Aramis complains. “Go to sleep Athos. _Now._ ”

He hears clothes ruffling as Porthos hits his friend not-so-slightly on the shoulder for his harsh tone and finally decides to move. He is not as close to the others as he could be, but they seem satisfied with the fact that two mere feet separate him from them, so he is left alone to his thoughts, as they soon fall asleep. 

He can see the stars through a few broken boards on the roof and wishes he knew how to express his gratitude for the kindness shown to him.

He doesn’t sleep a lot that night.

**5.**

He wakes up on a pillow wet by tears and hears soft snores next to him. He keeps his eyes closed for a bit, remembering how he ended up here, sharing a bed with Aramis and Porthos in a miserable inn lost in the middle of Champagne. They are coming back from a mission – a visit, as it had so politely been called by the Captain, to remind some members of the nobility that they owed their loyalty to the King and not his brothers – and had had to stop here on their way back to Paris. Porthos grumbles and he finally opens his eyes. 

He is stuck between the wall and Porthos, with Aramis hanging on the other side of the bed, slightly drooling on his pillow, one hand tucked in Porthos’s shirt, the other under his pillow – where there is a blade is hidden, he remembers how they all put one there before falling asleep. He moves slightly and realizes that Porthos’s free hand is right next to him – close to his heart, and it is quite comforting to _see_ it. 

They are becoming _friends_ , somehow – Porthos and Aramis are very insistent in being around him, and the Captain always sends them on missions together – and he doesn’t know how to react to the whole situation. He isn’t used to having friends – not anymore, not after Anne, and how heavy is her locket around his neck this morning – but he feels different with them. 

They don’t give up on him.

They insist on spending time with him, and sometimes, when they are clapping each other’s back after a well-done mission, he feels at ease. 

This scares him.

**6.**

Being on guard duty can be boring – especially for Porthos, who is always the first to be fidgeting when they are a court – but sometimes, it is really worth it, especially when the Cardinal is shutting down arrogant nobles trying to manipulate the King. The Queen is hiding her smile behind her fan, but he is exactly at the right place to see her face, and he has to bite the inside of his cheek to stop himself from imitating her. The King himself seems to be quite oblivious to the whole show, but it probably is a _façade_ – he can be a sneaky weasel when he wants to, and the Cardinal is obviously taking a great joy in defending the King. 

The Duc present here clearly does not like how the situation is being handled and, as a way of regaining the upper hand, makes a derogatory comment about the Queen’s lack of pregnancy. He grimaces, Porthos raises his eyebrows _very_ high, Aramis looks from the Queen to the Duc, the King jumps to his feet, the Cardinal steps back – which is never a good sign – and the Queen closes her fan so fast that it breaks on the armchair of her seat. She looks outraged, so does the King, and he realizes Their Majesties must have been trying to conceive very recently – perhaps even the night before, seeing how quickly the King’s cheeks redden. 

“Those are outrageous insinuations!” proclaims the King, fists closed, and the Duc winces – his first smart reaction since the beginning of the interview. “I will not have you _slandering_ the Queen’s honor in front of me!” 

The Duc opens his mouth to defend himself, looks at the Queen who in return stares at him like he is a worm on her shoes and closes it, his shoulders sagging. The Cardinal, as usual, is really not amused and – there it goes…

“Guards! Go with the Duc to his residence and make sure he stays here! You, _Monsieur_ , are forbidden to come back here until you are invited again!” the King nearly spits out, white with rage safe for his red cheeks and the Duc bows really low, muttering apologies before leaving the palace. 

He exchanges a quick glance with Aramis, who slightly tilts his head towards the Cardinal, still looking at the departing Duc in such a way that if a look could kill, he would be dead already. 

Eh. 

**7.**

Madame Bonacieux is a lovely woman, full of warmth and energy, who loves nothing more than having her free rooms rented to people _who pay their rent_. He has been staying here in his first months at the garrison before joining the barracks, once he got his commission, but likes to come back to visit her from time to time. There is, after all, always good food, good wine, and good conversation in her home, and her husband doesn’t mind him being there – other lodgers had sometimes caused trouble, but a brief intervention from him had made sure the lady wouldn’t be bothered here, which put him in the good graces of Monsieur Bonacieux. 

“You do not seem to be enjoying the food tonight, monsieur,” Constance says during a lull in the conversation, and he brings his eyes back to the plate, realizing he hasn’t eaten a third of it. Quite a shame, honestly, because it’s _good_.  
“My apologizes, Madame. I have little appetite tonight,” he answers finally, looking at her, and winces as he moves to reach his glass of wine. 

He is alone to nurse his injuries tonight, Aramis being stuck in the physician’s rooms – they take turns in there – and Porthos looking after him. And he knows better than to try and drink on an empty stomach, so he is here trying to be pleasant to his hostess, but it is difficult; his thoughts are full of Anne, as they usually are after a near brush with Death. 

“I do hope you will eat more in the next days,” Constance continues, smiling at him kindly. “It would do no good for a Musketeer of the King to faint on the streets because he hasn’t been eating enough…”

He smiles a little. 

“I shall not dishonor my brothers in such a way,” he answers, and brings his plate closer to him. “And the King’s protection requires energy…”

Porthos and Aramis – after making sure he was not injured, of course – would tease him, perhaps not mercilessly, but for days if this ever were to happen to him. They are all starting to feel comfortable enough with each other to tease, and he feels a bit better now, thanks to them. They secure him. 

Constance is still smiling, and she goes back to talking about her daily activities, sharing the gossips that run through Parisian streets, how people feel about their Majesties and the latest tax policies, _and really the Cardinal doesn’t have a good reputation you know?_ And she explains, and he listens, carefully noting whatever could be of use to them. 

It is a calm, warm evening, and he likes it.

**8.**

They almost died at La Rochelle and three years later, Porthos still wakes up in the middle of the night, seeing blood everywhere on himself and on his clothes. He was around when it happened last year and is around this year again, the three of them cramped in a _minuscule_ room at Chambord, following their Majesties on one of their trips in the country. Aramis and he barely manage to stop Porthos from hurting himself in his sleep, his dream – nightmare, more like it – making him wild, and when it's over they all lie on the ground, sharing a bottle of wine between them, candles still burning. 

“How do you escape those kind of memories?” Porthos finally asks after a long moment of silence, not looking at either of them, the bottle of wine still in his hands.  
“You don’t,” he answers, his right leg propped against Aramis’s left. Aramis is regarding him with a somber expression on his face. “They will be the ones to leave you in peace, eventually,” he adds in what he hopes is a more cheerful tone. 

Judging by Porthos’s face, he fails. Aramis nudges Porthos with his shoulder, the two of them facing him, and he closes his eyes. Anne’s face is dancing in front of him and he _misses_ her – the woman he thought she was. His wife. 

“It doesn’t get better, then?” Aramis states, and there is something very cautious about his tone, that makes him opens his eyes again. 

The two of them are looking at him like he has failed some kind of test. They look disappointed, and he feels like shrinking onto himself, wanting to disappear. _He doesn’t want to disappoint them_ – not when he has found some kind of solace in their friendship. 

“It does get better,” he mumbles without looking at either of them, his eyes fixed on the door. “A little. Some days are better than others,” he specifies after a moment of silence. 

Aramis nudges his leg against his own, and he finally looks back at them. Porthos is – as ever – a calm, gentle force that steadies him in the moment, and Aramis seems satisfied with himself – well, himself and Porthos, but he usually is. He feels a bit better, suddenly – they are not _really_ disappointed with him, he has managed to say _something_ good, not everything is lost. This is good news. He tries to smile back at them and Aramis looks like a cat that just got the cream. And Porthos is feeling better already too, he can see it clear as day. They sit together in silence, the bottle of wine passing around until nothing is left, and then start to talk about nothing important, trying to keep at bay the shadows of the past. 

How they manage to get back on the bed and sleep for the rest of the night here is, on the other hand, a good question for which he has no answer the following morning. 

**9.**

He doesn’t try to get himself killed in fights anymore – well, most of the time. He has people who care for him, and for whom he cares too. They are a good reason to stay alive. 

(Until he can find a reason within himself, but this is for later. He hasn’t forgiven himself yet.) 

He owes Captain Treville more than he will ever admit in front of the man.

**10.**

D’Artagnan arrives and this is the beginning of a new era. Being rescued from the firing squad makes him feel both disappointed and relieved, but he doesn't have much time to dwell on it, as he is soon wrapped up in the events of the most intense weeks of his life – especially when he discovers that his wife is still alive and looking for revenge. He doesn’t know what to do with the knowledge. 

Nor does he know what to do with d’Artagnan, who keeps following him everywhere like an eager puppy, after having tried to kill him. Aramis and Porthos find the while situation to be hilarious and soon take the stray in: he is talented, impatient to become a musketeer, and fast on his way to become a _very_ good friend to the three of them. 

It is strange how they seem to have found a new kind of balance since d’Artagnan is here – and comforting, too. 

He is less alone now than he was before.


End file.
